Rumours
by TheQuietAwakening
Summary: Years after the war, Draco just wants a chance at regaining a normal life. With his family fortune gone, reputation destroyed, he has been working hard in his lowly assistant position to rebuild some of his lost status. What will Draco do when a rumour threatens to bring all his efforts crumbling down around him? – Written for QLFC Round 8


**Hello and welcome to another one-shot written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. It's Round 8 and this week's theme is "The Korean Wave" with my position's inspiration (Chaser 1) supposed to come from the K-pop song Rumour by KARD with the theme, falling prey to rumours (either the people involved in the rumour or the listeners).**

 **Optional prompts used this round: (word) forgive, (emotion) frustration, and (phrase) on his/her knees.**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Her eyes.

They lingered in his mind, haunting him with an ever-present reminder of what he used to be.

He didn't know her, but she knew him. They all did. At least, that's what they thought.

The angry glares of assumed betrayal were easily dismissed, unable to penetrate the wall of immunity he had built during the trials after the war. With his defection came those disdainful stares from Voldemort's followers as they were sent to their lifelong fate behind bars.

Disappointment was another look to which he had become unaffected. It had come from so many people over the course of his life; his father, Hogwarts professors, fellow students, and even the Dark Lord himself.

But fear. He would never get used to being feared.

He had heard the stories being told, becoming more and more horrid each time it was described. Draco Malfoy was meeting with an old friend, a Death Eater supporter. His defection was a ploy. He has single-handedly infiltrated the Ministry and has been slowly implementing his terrible plan for years. Draco had no idea how anyone had found out about his five minute chat with Nott, but the rumours were spreading, growing, thriving on the boredom of individuals tired of living their safe little lives. People needed excitement, they needed something to investigate, a fun story to tell. Now that the war was over, things were becoming normal once again. People were learning that normal can be monotonous, plain, boring.

Draco just wanted to be able to begin rebuilding his life. Instead, he was living with the constant reminders of childhood manipulation into following the ideals of a madman. He had worked too hard over the past few years to become the victim of a frightening tale. With his father in Azkaban, family fortune stripped, the Manor seized, his reputation destroyed, he had been left with nothing and little hope of regaining any of the life he previously knew. His high marks in school were no match for his ex-Death Eater status and no one wanted to hire someone so potentially dangerous.

It didn't matter what his ambitions may have been when he was a highly regarded member of society, an honour student, nearly the top of every class, he was happy with the lowly assistant position he had finally managed to attain at the Ministry. They took a chance and he was going to take full advantage of it. Finally, he could begin to show that they didn't know everything about him, that he was more than the Daily Prophet made him out to be, that he could be an asset to the world which had cast him out.

Frustration boiled within him as he thought about how close he had come to a promotion just last week, before the first story was told.

It took a long time for people to begin to forgive him for being on the wrong side during the war. It took nearly as long for him to forgive himself. Everything he thought he knew, everything his parents told him as an easily influenced child, was wrong. It took him far too long to realize what should have been clear from the start, that people are people and they have lives just like him, even if they do look different. Later, he learned it wasn't even possible for anyone to _steal_ magic, let alone Muggles. All the terrible things he had done and said to those he thought were thieves of magic were innocent. The man he worshiped, of whom he followed every command, was nothing but an evil, cold blooded, psychopath, killing simply for power and fun. It made him sick to think about.

Draco knew he would probably never be able to make it up to the world, he had been a part of too much destruction, and he hated himself for it. But he had thought that maybe, just maybe, he could show how his heart had changed enough to bring even a hint of forgiveness, and with it, a shot at a normal life.

Now, it was all crumbling down around him. He may have patched up the wall after the hurricane, but an earthquake had hit to knock it back down again.

After sitting behind that desk for so long, people had started treating him like a functioning human being again, rather than some horrifying creature that might attack at any moment.

Draco had thought they were starting to forgive, starting to put what happened in the past, but maybe they were simply waiting for the next scandal to break to flesh out the monster he really was.

The Mark defined him, and he despised it. That dark reminder, so faded it was barely visible on his pale skin, still reaped so much havoc on his life. It was as though the Dark Lord was laughing at him from his grave.

Draco's hands balled into tight fists as he made his way to the Ministry floo network. His boss had asked him to leave until this was cleared up. It must have come from a higher power within the institution because he thought he had been making some progress with the man. They had built a trust, an almost friendship, and that made it all the more infuriating.

People thought he was a danger because of a silly rumour! Because of an over-unembellished story, any reputation he may have regained was destroyed once again.

He was told to leave.

With a puff of green flame, Draco stepped out of the fireplace into his own small flat. Upon seeing the chipping grey paint he needed to repair nearly every week, the vague odour of smoke he couldn't seem to get rid of, and the domestic dispute occurring next door, fury exploded within him and his fist was through the drywall in an instant.

The world was returning to normal, but his life would never be the same. He lived in the cheapest flat he could find, had a low standing job that paid next to nothing, and people looked at him as though he were a grotesque spectacle.

Things had been getting better, but now, he was being thrown back to the beasts once again.

"Are you enjoying it more the second time?"

Draco spun around snatching his wand from his hip and aiming it in the direction of the all too familiar voice.

"The fall from society's graces. How is it the second time around?" Theodore Nott stepped from the darkness of the hallway, a smirk on his face.

"How did you get in here?" Draco asked in a calm voice, wand never wavering from its aim at the other man's chest.

"You really do need some stronger wards," Nott chuckled as he slumped down onto the soggy brown sofa. "You think you can hide your anger from me? I know you too well for that. Come on, let me relish in it." He paused. "Good job on the wall by the way. I thought it needed a good hole there."

"Did you do this!" Draco demanded.

"You think I wouldn't? It was far too easy," he said. "You thought people had actually started to forgive you?" Nott laughed ruefully. "That's not what they do. No, those like us, we live in the shadows. You're no different."

"We're nothing alike. What we did back then wasn't right!"

"We. Are. Exactly. The same." Nott enunciated. "We ruined the lives of the right people, the other side. You turned your back on your own. If you think about it, who's actually worse?"

"I'm sorry to hear about your father, but-

"Apologies won't get you anywhere!" the man yelled. "You sent my father to prison. You sent him there to die! I want to watch you burn."

Anger pulsed through him, building, bubbling up within him like a volcano about to erupt. He had to stay in control. If Snape had taught him anything it was that strong emotions lead to destruction. Draco couldn't let Nott have that power over him. He knew it would be twisted around like all the other stories, evidence fabricated to point straight to his monstrous self.

Draco took a deep breath, holding down the explosion of rage that was ready to be set off.

" _Confringo!"_

 _"Protego!"_ Draco deflected the curse, blasting it through the already damaged wall, leaving an even larger hole.

 _"Incendio!"_

Draco dove to the right, scrambling across the carpeted floor as fire caught the ground where he had stood. It was spreading quickly, catching on the curtains, licking up the walls. He could feel its growing heat as it threatened inevitable destruction.

With a flick of Nott's wand, Draco was stuck to the floor, his knees fixed to the ground.

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Draco was left helpless as his wand was torn from his fist.

On his knees. Helpless. It was how he had been his entire life, being tossed to the ground by everything and everyone. His father's constant disapproval knocked him down each time he went home. At school, it was himself, even Hermione Granger, who kept him flailing on the floor. Then the Dark Lord, against whom a teenage boy didn't stand a chance. How was he supposed to refuse what he was realizing to be wrong when the consequences were torture, death? After he had spent his entire childhood pinned to the ground, the world kept him there, afraid of what he might do, might be capable of, if he were allowed to stand. And now, Nott. Draco had thought he could spare five minutes to hear what he had to say, thought he had owed it to him after his father had just been killed in prison. Just as Draco had one foot back in place, preparing to push himself off the ground for the first time, he was trapped once again.

How comedic that this time it would be physical, that this would be his end. He would never get to stand, never get the chance to push himself from the floor and live a life for himself. He would die, on his knees, before someone who used to be a friend.

"Look at it," Nott said, eyes turned to the fire beating its way across the ceiling. "Isn't it beautiful? The pure destruction of a good flame, its glow, its heat. Do you feel it?" He turned back to Draco. "It'll reach you soon. Unfortunately, I'll have watch from outside, but promise a good scream will you?"

Draco stared up at him, expression as blank as possible. He wouldn't give Nott the satisfaction.

"Well," Nott shrugged, reaching down to snatch up the wand at his feet. "At least I get to know you suffered. People will be so happy to know that you're finally gone, that they don't have to fear you anymore. It's really too bad it will be ruled an accidental blaze, I would've been held a hero, stopping you from succeeding in your _horrible_ plans." With a grin, he disapperated.

Draco pulled with all his strength, desperately trying to yank himself from the carpet, but it was no use without his wand. He coughed on the smoky air, wheezing for his next breath. This was how it would all end. Who was he to think he could ever have a normal life? Merlin knew, he didn't deserve it. With defeat, he fell onto his stomach, knees still firmly stuck in place.

He could see the flames licking closer and closer, but mercifully, Draco could feel himself losing consciousness. He only hoped the blackness would take him quickly.

 _Bam!_

What Draco thought was the explosion to end it all became the thudding of footsteps and yelling voices carried through the crackling flame.

 _Whoosh!_

Cold water sprayed down around him, dulling the glow of the fire.

Draco felt the release, as the charm holding him down was removed and hands roughly hauled him from the burning building.

Nothing was clear.

He was dancing between consciousness and unconsciousness.

The air.

He was flying.

No, he was being carried.

People, flashing lights.

He saw the uniform of an Auror.

Draco knew he was probably going to Azkaban. They would pin it on him.

* * *

The next thing he knew was a soft bed, hushed whispers, and a burning pain in his left arm. A glance at his surroundings told Draco he was at St. Mungo's. He was injured, but not dead.

"Malfoy." It was Potter. "You're awake."

Of course, it was Potter. It was always Potter. Now that the man was Head Auror, there was nothing that would save Draco from his fate in prison. Potter was the last person to believe anything he said. Draco might not be dead, but Nott had won either way. Should he even bother explaining?

He stayed silent, emotionless to the outside world.

"We know," the Auror said.

"What do you think you know?" Draco growled. He did not want to be told by the Auror what the whole Ministry had been whispering about for days.

Wait, was that remorse he saw in Potter's expression? Surely Draco was mistaken. It just didn't make any sense as to why the man would feel remorse.

"We've been tracking Nott for a while. Since his father's death, he's come out of hiding, joined a group of anti-Muggle terrorists and has been acting out destructively under their name." Potter took a deep breath. "Probably should have told you, but we weren't completely sure what part of the stories were made-up. I still don't trust you, but apparently, you've made some friends in the Ministry."

"So, you let me walk into a trap!" Draco shouted.

He shouldn't be surprised, the man had always hated him, maybe Potter had secretly wished he'd been killed in the encounter.

"We weren't sure what to believe. Had to take precautions if anything being said was the truth," Potter told him.

"You let it happen! You let him destroy everything I've worked towards! You nearly let him kill me!" Draco yelled, his anger at Nott, Potter, the world, exploding from him.

The man turned to leave. "I just came to tell you we know it was Nott, we know the rumours were false, and that I have people arresting him at this moment."

Draco was left alone, feeling such conflicting emotions. Potter knew, but didn't trust him enough to tell him before he was about to be killed, he had allowed the rumours to spread, let him walk to his death. Potter saved him, put aside his mistrust and hatred long enough to see that the stories were fabricated, to arrest the actual guilty party.

All Draco wanted was a chance. Maybe, the stories' effects could be reversed, maybe the true tale could be told, maybe he could finally climb up on his own two feet, and for the first time in his life, stand without the world holding him down.

* * *

 **Thanks to DaughteroftheOneTrueKing for beta'ing!**


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